Starlight
by HaldirAragorn
Summary: Spike and the team find more than they bargained for when they go to catch an art counterfeiter. It's a fun little sci-fi space romance with lots of fluff and furtive glances! Takes place towards the end of the series, before Session 24.
1. Chapter 1

Jet sleepily turned on his vid screen to check on today's bounties, his piping cup of tea in hand. The familiar Mexican cowboy and scantily-clad ditzy blonde were bantering about the latest buzz in the bounty hunter community. "Hey there, cowboys! Another fake painting was discovered yesterday on Mars at the Tharsis City Art Museum. Authorities are sure it's the work of renowned art counterfeiter Jillian Arainai, sometimes called 'The Master'."

A candid picture of a young brunette woman, no older than 25, came up on the screen. "She doesn't look like a criminal at all," Jet muttered to himself, intrigued.

"Don't let that angel face fool you, though!" the blonde warned. "She's responsible for over 8 million woolongs in loss and damages. Oh my! There's even been a murder that's been possibly linked to her syndicate." Jet had heard enough. He downloaded the info and set the Bebop on a new course for Mars, browsing through the details as he sipped his tea.

Spike wandered by wrapped in a blanket, his eyes half-closed and a crinkled cigarette hanging from his lip. "You got something?" he asked, evidently having noticed the ship's engines firing up and leaving orbit around Io. Jet watched him search lazily through the folds of the blanket for a match to light his first smoke of the day, but ultimately give up when he came up empty. Noticing his friend's plight, Jet pulled a match from his pocket and handed it to him.

"Yeah. An art counterfeiter on Mars," Jet said as Spike dragged the match across the bulkhead. He watched as it burst into a bright flame, until Spike's hands surrounded it to light his cigarette.

He let out a long sigh after taking a drag. "A counterfeiter, huh. Great. Easy money, but boring work."

"Might not be as straightforward as you think, Spike," Jet said, holding up the screen so he could see her picture.

"A girl?" Spike said, his interest piqued. "She doesn't look much like a master criminal."

"That's what I thought too."

"Hmm," Spike said pensively, taking the vid screen from Jet.

* * *

Spike hated being on Mars. Tharsis City was full of too many bad memories around every dark corner, and he had to be careful not to be seen. He was supposed to be dead, after all. But the emptiness in his stomach was his driving force for going through with this mission, as dangerous as it was to be back on his home planet. With the money he made from this mark, he planned to buy a whole fridge full of various meats, enough to feed him for months. Though he knew it likely wouldn't last that long with the speed at which Faye could lose money, and he wasn't cold enough to let any of his crewmates go hungry when it really came down to it, even Faye. Still, it was nice to dream.

"Now Spike, when you get there, don't go charging in without me," Jet's voice came over the Swordfish's comm. "Wait until I get there. This woman is not one to be trifled with, from what I've heard, and we don't know how many goons she'll have."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Jet." His old friend was too cautious for his liking most of the time, but he didn't feel like getting in an argument right now. It's easier to seek forgiveness later.

Spike landed his ship in an abandoned lot a few blocks away from where their research suggested Arainai's base of operations was located. They'd had to call on every old connection Spike could safely use to get the information. It had better be worth it, he thought as he strolled cautiously down the dimly lit street. Tharsis hadn't changed much in the years since he'd left. Things on this side of town were still dumpy and sketchy as ever. In a weird way he felt at home, then tried quickly to shake that notion once he realized it.

He stood at the corner of a nearby building, waiting for Jet and smoking a cigarette. Spike scoped out the derelict school he was about to sneak into, noticing a little room at the back with the glow of a small desk lamp. It was as good a place as any to start. By the time he'd finished his cigarette, Jet still wasn't there yet, and Spike had gotten bored. From what he'd seen, there didn't seem to be too much activity going on at this place, and he wondered if their intel had been correct. "Only one way to find out," he muttered to himself, flicking the cigarette butt into a corner.

That one room with the light on seemed to be sealed up pretty tight, but an adjacent one had a small window with an old broken lock that he was able to slip through unnoticed. He looked around in the darkness, allowing his sharp eyes some time to adjust. He was in a janitorial closet, he figured, from the brooms and cleaning supplies on the shelves. The door was slightly ajar, permitting him to sneak out into the hallway. Two guards sat beside the door to the target, crouched around a student's desk they used as a table to play cards and pass the time.

"Full house," the one with his back to Spike said confidently, laying down his hand. "Read 'em and weep." The other lifted his head with a scowl to say something to his friend, but noticed Spike behind him coming fast upon them from the shadows. His eyes doubled in size and he let out a yelp of a warning as Spike shoved the first guy forward, smashing his nose into the sturdy desk and knocking him out cold. He twirled around and kicked the second goon in the face, his head connecting hard with the wall.

* * *

Her day had started like all the others since she'd been abducted and forced into this arrangement, and nothing until that point in the evening had made Jillian think it would end any differently than all the others. But the crashing in the hallway outside her 'cell' was sure to herald something different to the usual routine. Good or bad, hell, at least it was different. As much as she loved art, this had been her life for who knows how long. Get up or be beaten, paint, eat scraps, paint, eat slightly bigger scraps for dinner, then paint until she was allowed to sleep. Every day went on like that, and she had long ago lost track of how long it had been. The only thing that kept her going some days was the thought of _him_. Once, she had even been allowed to see him briefly, but that was a really long time ago now.

She wished she could get up and hide from this obvious intruder. But she was tied to that horrid chair, a chain locked securely around her waist so she could still have use of her hands and arms to paint and sketch. The explanation her brain had immediately come up with was that a rival syndicate had gotten wind of her whereabouts and wanted to take her for themselves. The lock on the door was being opened, and she quickly looked around for some kind of weapon, but all she had within reach was art supplies. She sighed frustratingly and grabbed her palette, covered in the evening's tints and shades. The knob clicked, and a hand carrying a gun appeared at the crack in the door. Before he was even completely in the room, she flung the palette at where she anticipated his head would be by the time the palette reached the doorway. It connected, and for a moment all she saw was a tall, lean man in a dark blue leisure suit with a painting palette stuck to the side of his face.

"Aw, come on," he complained in a deep voice, knocking it away and examining the pigment on his fingers.

"What do you want?" Jillian asked, feigning a commanding presence, until it fell apart when he turned his dark mop of a head in her direction, along with his gun. "Are you here to kill me?" Her voice quavered slightly, and she inhaled sharply at the end of her question.

"Only if you get paint on this suit," he grumbled sarcastically, wiping his hand on a nearby piece of cloth. "Why are you chained to that chair? And locked in this room? You _are_ Jillian Arainai, right?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, confused. "How do you know who I am?"

"You're supposed to be the one in charge of this whole counterfeiting racket," he said, "But from where I'm standing it looks like they had it all wrong."

"What? Who are you? What do you want with me?"

"Name's Spike. I'm a bounty hunter," he said coolly, putting away his pistol. "I'll untie you if you tell me what's going on."

She nodded, her brow knitted. She had little reason to, but she trusted him. His chestnut eyes just had a soothing quality in them that put her at ease. Jill took a deep breath and began her story. "I was just an artist. My boyfriend, Dameon, well, he was never the brightest crayon in the box, and he kind of had a gambling problem. He got in with a bad crowd, and owed some nasty people lots of money. I guess they saw an opportunity to make some of it back, because they took me in the middle of the night and said I had to make counterfeit paintings for them or they'd kill him. So that's what I do, day in and day out, until his debt is paid."

"Apparently you're pretty good, too," Spike said, nodding at the landscape she'd been working on as he began to undo her bonds. "Your captors have made almost 8 million woolong from your work."

"What?! You're kidding, right?" That was _way_ more than he owed, even with interest.

"Nope," Spike assured her, finally freeing her and casually leaning on the big teacher's desk where all of her art supplies were strewn. She stood, stretching herself out, thankful to be able to move again. Even leaning on the desk, she noticed he was taller than her.

"Great—" she began to say, until Spike held up a finger and his head turned to the door. In the next couple seconds, he'd removed his gun from its holster again and crossed the room to stand behind the door. Jill had heard a noise too, and ducked behind the desk while grabbing a couple of full paint tubes.

* * *

Jet cursed Spike silently. Why couldn't that kid ever follow the plan and wait for backup? The new intel he'd gotten, assumingly _after_ Spike had left his ship and gone in all cavalier like usual, would have made this whole mission pointless. He better not have gotten himself into trouble. Again.

He found a window around the back with a broken lock, and figured he could sneak in that way. The window had been a little smaller than he originally thought, however, and caught on the pocket of his gray jumpsuit. He'd tumbled ungracefully into a closet, knocking a mop off the wall. Jet grumbled and got up, peeking out the door down the hallway. There were a couple of guards lying senseless on the floor, in front of the room he'd figured was his best bet at finding his partner. Following the trail of destruction is usually a pretty safe bet when tailing Spike.

Cautiously, he entered the doorway to find it empty. Or so he thought. A girl in a sleeveless shirt popped up from behind the large desk in the middle of the room and threw something at him, and simultaneously he heard Spike's gravelly voice calmly say his name off to his left. That had distracted him to the point where he didn't recoil fast enough to dodge the metallic tube of paint chucked at him. It hit his right temple, and he winced and growled, "Oww! Hey!"

"No, it's okay, he's with me," Spike chuckled, informing his new friend, who slowly lowered the second tube of paint in her hand. "Jill, meet my partner, Jet."

"Oh, hi Jet. Sorry about throwing stuff at you."

"No problem," he replied, rubbing his head where it still stung. He looked at Spike, his face covered in paint. "What'd she throw at you, the painting?"

His partner just narrowed his eyes, and continued on, unphased. "She's been framed, Jet."

"I know. If you hadn't rushed in without me, again, you would've heard me telling you all about it over the comms. I had my old buddy Holling look into it as a favor, and he just got back to me after we'd last talked. I know the whole story: her boyfriend got into hot water with these guys over some debts, and pretty much sold her into slavery to cover his own ass."

"What?!" Jill exclaimed, sinking back into her chair. "No, he wouldn't do that!" Jet exchanged a quick glance with Spike, suddenly aware he had said too much too quickly. As she held her face in her paint-smeared hands, quietly sobbing, both men slowly made their way over to her and the big desk.

"It's true, I'm afraid," Jet said softly, putting a metallic hand on her trembling shoulder. She looked up at him, her big greenish eyes dripping with tears and sorrow.

"What do I do now?" Jillian asked him, wiping her face. "They'll find me again if I stay on Mars."

Spike turned to him, his back to the sobbing girl. "We can't just leave her here, Jet."

His words surprised the weathered bounty hunter, as Spike was not one to happily agree to another mouth to feed, much less ask for it. "I have no intention of leaving her here. The syndicate has made a lot of money off this one. They're not likely to just let her go without a fight," Jet agreed, then turned to her. "You can come with us. We'll take you anywhere in the system you want to go."

Jill sniffled and said, "That's really kind of you guys, but I don't want to be a burden."

"Well, it's that or we can just turn you in for the money, I suppose…" Jet teased.

"No thanks!" she said, cheering up from the joke. Then, swallowing hard, she added, "I would really appreciate it if you could help me find Dameon. I've got to hear what he has to say… and I have a few choice words for him, too. I can cook! Or clean, or do whatever I can to help you guys out in return."

"That'd be great, if we had any food," Spike chimed in.

"Ooh, I should still have a little bit of money in a hidden account! I had to keep it secret from Dameon or he would've just lost it all anyway. Let me buy you guys dinner! It's the least I can do after you rescued me from this horrible life of monotony." Jet heard Spike's stomach growl, undoubtedly from the thought of a hot steak meal, knowing him.

"Deal," Jet and Spike agreed. She grinned and quickly gathered up a few things off her desk in a little cloth bag.

* * *

Jill and Spike made their way to his small red ship under Jet's insistence. He'd told her he was afraid that either one of them could draw unwanted attention at the Tharsis market. She had trusted him with access to her secret account, perhaps a little too easily, but that was her nature. It had gotten her into trouble on many occasions. Especially in relationships.

Spike's little converted racing ship, the _Swordfish II_ he'd called it, was really only a one-person vessel, but he claimed she could also fit and he would still be able to fly it. She climbed in nervously, having not been to space in a really long time and never in a craft so small. Spike slid himself in front of her, so that he could reach the controls, and started up the ship. She couldn't help but put an arm around his waist and bury her face in his dark, fluffy, green-tinged hair when he fired the thrusters and they took off for the sky. She took deep breaths to try to calm her nerves, but it only served as a distraction, causing Spike's scent to fill her mind and deflect her thoughts. Her grip on him relaxed only after they'd broke atmo and all she could see out of the cockpit was stars. "Wow," she whispered in awe.

"Haven't ever been off-planet, huh," Spike observed keenly.

"Not since I was really young. My parents eventually decided Earth wasn't a great place to raise a kid, with the daily rock showers being a constant threat and all. So we left for Tharsis City."

"Aren't they going to worry about you?"

She swallowed. "No. They… were murdered several years ago." She could feel his entire body stiffen against her.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"It's okay. You didn't know. So where are you from, Spike?"

He took a moment to answer. "Mars," he finally said, flatly.

She could sense an underlying story there, but his obvious hesitation made her not press it further. The last thing she wanted to do was make her rescuer uncomfortable. "Oh, that's cool," she said, then quickly added, "I like your ship, Spike."

"Heh, thanks." He seemed relieved she'd deflected the conversation, and relaxed.

Jill had always been fairly intuitive and empathetic, easily finding common ground with most people. She still wasn't quite sure what that would turn out to be with him yet, but she was undoubtedly intrigued by Spike. He was different than most people she had known on Mars. Though he hadn't said a whole lot since she'd met him, she could tell he had a sharp intellect, and was obviously physically capable from the way he took out those two guards at her door. But what captivated her the most about him was his eyes. A deep and soulful auburn, they often looked as though his mind was light years away.


	2. Chapter 2

The Swordfish neared a much bigger ship, and once Spike had safely docked they both climbed out. As he opened the airlock and stepped through, he said, "Welcome to the Bebop." Jill looked up at him with her eyes wide, smiling warmly. He realized then it had been a long time since anyone had smiled at him like that. Except for Ed, but she was just a kid, and it was different anyway. Without even thinking, he found his mouth curled into its own grin in response.

Edward ran by then, Ein barking and following closely at her heels. "Spike is back! Spike is back!" she shouted, waving her arms wildly. "Hey, who are you?" She stopped and jumped back in order to examine the slender woman behind Spike. She grabbed her empty hand and started sniffing at it, while the little Corgi sniffed at her leg.

Spike watched curiously, as Jill looked more amused than anything else. "Ed, enough. This is Jill Arainai."

"Hi," Jill said cheerily.

"Ohhhh… the counterfeiter that you and Jet went to catch?" the scrawny redhead asked while letting go of Jill's wrist.

"Yeah."

"Ohhhh… Jet told Ed to tell you if she saw you before he did, that the counterfeiter wasn't the one we should be going after." The girl rocked back and forth on her bare feet with her hands behind her, as if reciting from a passage.

"Yeah, I know, Ed," Spike said demurely.

"Okay! Hey, what'd you get all over your face?"

"It's paint," he replied gruffly, though Ed and the dog had already run off somewhere else, apparently not that interested in his answer. "Kids," he grumbled disapprovingly.

"She's lively," Jill noted in amusement. Spike just snorted. "Want me to get that paint off you? I brought some mineral spirits with me."

"Absolutely." He led her into the common room and threw himself on the couch, taking off his jacket and slinging it over the backrest. Jill sat beside him, setting her little bag on the short table in front of the couch. She removed a small jar and mostly clean rag. Spike observed her movements, smooth and routine, as if she'd done this a thousand times before. She raised her eyes to meet his and ever so gently turned his chin a little to see the painted side of his face better. Slowly, carefully, she dragged the cloth across his cheekbone. He still watched her work, realizing just then that she was actually quite beautiful. That thought combined with her touch made him look away bashfully.

"Your eyes don't match. That one's lighter," she said suddenly. His eyebrow quirked and he glanced at her. Nobody ever picked up on that. She looked embarrassed, and added, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blurt that out, I just noticed and—"

"One is artificial. I lost it in an accident years ago."

"Oh," she said, relaxing a bit. "Which is the real one?"

"This one," he told her, pointing to his left eye.

"Oh," she said again, resuming her task. "I'm sorry I threw that palette at you. I thought you were a rival gang member trying to steal me."

He was grateful she'd redirected from a conversation he didn't want to have. "Heh, it was a pretty good shot, I have to admit." Spike found himself impressed with her initiative, quick-thinking, and formidable aim.

"Thank you," she said, her cheeks flushing with a hint of color. "To be honest, I had a bit of practice. Some days I'd throw things at the guards or the door just for the hell of it. Course, there were usually beatings that followed, but it was something different at least."

"That explains the chains," Spike extrapolated.

"Yeah… one too many escape attempts earned me those." She'd managed to retain her spirit despite it all, he noted, a little envious. "It's so nice to have someone to talk to again, though." Her expression darkened slightly, and he figured he should say something.

"Oh, Spike, you're back," Faye said before he could think of anything, strolling into the room. "And I see you brought the counterfeiter girl with you. She's not the one you should be after, you know."

He felt his eye twitch as he gritted his teeth, tired of everyone telling him that. "Yeah Faye, I know."

"You've got paint on your face, too," she yelled over her shoulder as she strode out a different door than she'd entered from.

Spike growled, making Jill laugh. The sound snapped him out of his funk, and she added lightheartedly, "Is there anyone _else_ on this ship that is going to come by to let you know that little detail?"

"No," he sighed, "thankfully."

* * *

Faye couldn't remember the last time she had a meal that satisfying. It was by no means gourmet or haute couture, but everything had really hit the spot. Not having eaten in two days could have also been a contributing factor to her opinion, but perhaps that last mission wasn't a total loss after all. Sure, they hadn't made any money on it, but at least there was a hot supper and the prospect of more in the future.

"So they kept you locked in that room for… what was it Jet? Two years?" Faye asked, her questions directed between Jill and Jet, who sat on the floor at either end of the little coffee table in the common room.

"Was it really two years?" Jill repeated incredulously. Jet just nodded, his mouth full with his last bite of steak.

"That sounds incredibly dull," she replied thoughtfully, imagining how it must have been.

"Oh believe me, it was. Which is why I'm so grateful you all have let me stay with you for a while." Faye saw the artist's eyes dart between herself and Spike, who had managed to take up most of the couch beside her with the wide spread of his long spider like legs.

"It's usually not this exciting," Spike added, despite his mouth being full. Faye had to stifle a disgusted shudder when she saw, and she elbowed him in the rib in response.

"Yes it is!" Ed interjected, lying upside down with her feet wiggling in the air in a nearby chair, long having finished her food, while Ein licked her plate clean on the floor.

"Well still, if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know," Jill added generously.

An idea came into Faye's mind. "Now that you mention it… Since you're so good at that artsy stuff, I could use some help with painting my nails after dinner," she said, extending her fingers in front of her to examine her fingernails.

"You got it," Jill agreed, setting down her fork on an empty plate. Faye took note of that, and popped up from her seat, grabbing Jill's wrist in the process. It was time to make her escape, before the topic of clean-up arose.

She tugged at her, trying to pull her up from the floor. "Let's go then!"

Jill hesitantly stood, looking around. "Well, I was going to do the dishes first…" Faye pursed her lips, slightly annoyed the other girl had so easily foiled her plan.

"Oh no, you made dinner, Spike and Jet will take care of those while I entertain our new guest." Faye had quickly thought of a new angle of attack. Watching the two men perk up in terror as she pulled Jill towards the hatchway gave her the slightest bit of joy.

Faye plopped herself down on her bed, reaching in a corner for her set of nail polishes. Jill had sat on the other end, looking a little out of sorts. "So…" the artist began, "what do you want me to paint on them?"

"Oh I don't know, I'll leave that up to you," she answered, lining up the bottles. The way her face brightened at Faye's response caught her attention.

"Oh good. It's been two years since I've been able to choose my own subjects," Jill said gloomily.

Faye couldn't help but feel for the girl, her story of betrayal reminding her all too closely of her own. "I can't believe that jerk boyfriend of yours would trade your life and freedom to save his own neck."

"Dameon's not my boyfriend anymore," Jill said with a shrug while uncapping one of the brushes. "I probably should have seen it coming. Or at least figured it out in all that time alone." She sighed. "I guess I gave him too much credit. Or not enough? I don't know." Faye could tell she was frustrated with where the conversation was going and tried to quickly think of a new topic, but Jill ended up switching on her own, her whole demeanor perking up. "So tell me about your friends. Jet's the one in charge here, right?"

Faye giggled, "He'd like you to think that."

Jill chuckled along with her. "He seems like a nice guy though," she said in his defense.

"Oh he is. He's really a big ol' softie when it comes down to it. Just...don't tell him I said that."

"Got it," Jill said, laughing. "What about Ed?"

"She's...an interesting kid. Let's leave it at that. Oh, but she's a computer whiz, too."

"Okay. And um, what's Spike's deal?" Faye sensed a hint of having been led around in the conversation to this point, and it slightly annoyed her.

"Oh how would I know. He's too much of a stubborn pain in the ass to be bothered with. If he's not lazing about reading magazines, he'll be finding some new and exciting way to irritate the rest of us. And you _can_ tell him I said that," she said excitedly.

"He can't be _that_ bad," Jill countered. "He did kind of save my life after all."

Faye's eyes narrowed at her, suspicious as to why she would take his side. "Give him time. I'm sure he'll find ways to irk you as well."

* * *

Jill woke when she was damn well ready in the makeshift bedroom she'd been given, though it seemed to just be storage of some kind, with boxes piled high and a big fridge off to one side that Jet had warned her about. He'd mentioned some kind of creature living in it at one point, but assured her they'd taken care of it. She took a moment to do a quick sketch before throwing on some clothes and wandering out to see what her new companions were up to. She found Spike sprawled across the couch in the common room, a lit cigarette smoldering in his mouth as he stared blankly at the ceiling, with Ed and Ein on the floor looking at something on a computer screen, the light reflecting off her goggles. She sat in the chair across from Spike, who didn't seem to notice she'd even entered the room. Ein came over to her, looking for a bit of attention, which she happily gave. "What are you up to, Ed?" she asked, patting Ein's furry little head, while leaning over the armrest to get a look at the screen. Spike's head turned sharply, evidently surprised to hear her voice. "Morning, Spike," she said sweetly. He smirked and nodded at her and went back to staring at the ceiling, smoke rising from his lips.

"Ed is playing a game," she replied robotically, engrossed in what she was doing.

"What game?" Jill moved over next to Ed on the floor, lying on her stomach in mimicry of the redhead. She had always liked kids, and often wondered if she would ever truly grow up herself.

"Intergalactic Space Pirates," Ed answered finally, as Ein came over and made himself comfortable on her back.

"Oh fun, I think I've played this one before," Jill said, trying to strike up a bit of conversation.

"The painterfeiter girl plays games?" Ed asked, her head cocking to one side as she looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, I used to. It was a while ago. Oh watch out for that guy!" Jill excitedly pointed at the screen, alerting Ed to the danger. Her shock of orange hair swung back around to the screen, successfully dodging and countering the pirate's attack and completing the level.

"Yayy!" Ed yanked Jill's face to press against her own cheek. "You saved Ed's life!"

"It was nothing," she replied sheepishly through smooshed cheeks, "really." Spike's snicker drew her attention away, as Ed released her and went back to the next level.

"That's what you get when you get too close to Ed: squashed," he said jokingly, sitting himself up in the center of the couch. She smiled at him, happy he'd decided to join in the conversation.

"It does seem that way," she replied, sitting up as well.

"SPIKE!" she heard Faye scream suddenly, bursting into the room behind him. She watched as one corner of his mouth curled into a grin, but he didn't bother to turn around. "I think it's safe to assume it was _you_ who left these dirty dishes on my BED?!" She punctuated the last word by chucking a small pillow at him as hard as she could, then turned on her heels and stomped out. Jill saw the pillow sail past where the back of his head was a second earlier, Spike having evaded the incoming attack without even having to look. She watched in awe while stifling her own grin, his eyes never having moved from her gaze, until she realized the pillow was headed for Ed's head. In a quick reflexive motion, she extended her hand and grabbed it out of the air, Edward never having known the danger she escaped.

Spike's eyebrow raised. "Not bad. You've got some good reflexes there."

" _Me?_ You just dodged it without ever even looking at it!" she gushed.

"Hm. I know her well enough to expect it."

"What discipline did you study? You _had_ to have been formally trained in martial arts to be that awesome," Jill said excitedly. She'd seen enough chop socky movies to spot someone who knows what they're doing.

"Jeet Kune Do, for the most part," he said, crushing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table.

"The one Bruce Lee founded?"

His suddenly intense eyes darted up to hers. "You know of Bruce Lee?"

She grinned, thinking she might have just found their common interest. "Yeah, I've seen all but one of his movies!"

"No kidding," he said, looking thoughtful and amused.

"Oh Spike, will you teach me some? Please?" she begged and looked up at him from the floor, giving him her best big puppy dog eyes she could muster. She wanted nothing more than to be able to protect herself after two years of playing the damsel. Except maybe to spend a bit more time with him.

He seemed to consider it a moment, but ultimately agreed. "Sure. I've got nothing better to do later."

* * *

Jet had spent much of the morning alone in his cabin, searching for leads on where this Dameon fellow might have gone. But all the information he could come up with was from a year and a half ago, and then… nothing. He just seemed to disappear. It frustrated him greatly, and he also didn't want to stay in orbit around Mars for too long, considering Spike's ties there. But until they had a real destination, there was no point in wasting fuel to wander aimlessly.

He decided a short break was in order. Tending to his bonsai always helped clear his thoughts, and they could probably use a bit of trimming anyway. He picked up the shears and examined each miniature tree, his thoughts turning to his newest crew member, whose conversation with Spike he could overhear down the corridor. He was glad she seemed to be fitting in well with everyone, especially with his partner. Spike could use a sweet-tempered friend like her, he believed, and she appeared to crave social contact after so long with almost none. It could be good for both of them.

"Ed wait! It's not done yet!" he heard Jill shout in his direction, immediately followed by the younger girl and Ein running past his door clutching a piece of paper and chanting something about voodoo. Jill darted after her laughing, before giving up in front of his door. She turned her head, noticing him standing there. "Oh hey Jet. I'd been wondering where you've been all morning."

"Everything okay with Ed?" he asked, concerned.

"Oh yeah. She wanted me to draw her, but stole it before it was done. It's no big deal," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

He chuckled. "That girl can be a handful."

"Yeah, really. Whatcha been up to?" she asked, curious.

"Oh, I had been researching this 'Dameon Kent' guy of yours, but I needed a break." He saw her expression sour at the mention of his name.

"Any luck?"

"Nothing yet, I'm afraid."

"Oh, okay," she said dejectedly.

"Don't worry, we'll find him."

"Did _you_ grow these bonsai trees?" she asked, suddenly showing interest.

He unwittingly perked up and said, "Yeah. Do you like them?"

"They're beautiful," she said, his eyes brightening at her words. "I've tried to grow some myself before, but they always died after a while. I had a really cool little juniper once… I was really sad when that one gave up the ghost."

"It's taken long years of trial-and-error and dedication to mold these little ones into what they are now."

"It's a bit of a double art form, isn't it. Not only do you have to worry about their needs and how to keep them alive, but what shapes you want to slowly train them into."

"Yes, it's a bit like being a parent, I would think." Edward zipped past the door again, headed in the other direction.

"Well, there goes my sketch. I'll see ya, Jet. Spike says he'll teach me some martial arts moves later. I'm excited." She gripped the edge of the doorway, smiling and ready to follow after Ed.

"You get along pretty well with him, huh," he observed cheerfully.

"Yeah, I guess," she replied, her face flushing with color.

"Not many do. It's a good thing." She smiled broadly at him, then turned to chase after Ed.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike stood facing Jill in the common room, the furniture pushed to one side and his jacket slung over the chair. He could tell she was eager for the lesson, looking up at him with her big eyes and ever-present smile. "Jeet Kune Do has no set of rigid moves you learn. It's fluid. You need to move and adapt to any situation that comes at you," he began. "Now try to punch me three times."

"You sure?"

"Yup."

"I don't want to hurt you," she continued, her eyebrows crinkling. Her concern did not go unappreciated, but it was unnecessary.

"You won't. Just punch me, as fast as you can."

"Okay…" She seemed a little unsure, but took a deep breath and threw out her fists, three times. Spike shifted and tilted his upper body around them, so that she hit nothing but air. "That was amazing!" she said after the third strike, grinning widely. "How did you do that?"

He liked her enthusiasm, and couldn't hide a half-smirk. "The trick is to be like water. Close your eyes." She did as he said, and he continued, slowly circling around her where she stood. "Now empty your mind. Be formless, shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. Water can flow, or it can crash. _Be_ water."

She opened her eyes and said to him, "You're just quoting Bruce Lee now, I've heard that one before. I'm sure of it."

She had caught him off-guard. "S-so? It doesn't matter. Do you want to learn this or not?" He feigned frustration, hoping it would keep her focused.

"Yes! I'm sorry! I'll shut up, I swear. Don't stop."

"Okay. So, the whole point is minimal movement with maximum effect."

"Ooh, I can get behind that," she said cheerfully. Spike let the comment go, even though she'd just promised to be quiet. He was almost certain she was doing it just to tease him and provoke a reaction. He was glad she seemed to be enjoying herself, though. She'd had a rough go of it for the last couple of years, and if he could help her deal with that by letting her have her fun, then so be it. At least it kept his own mind occupied, too.

"You also don't want to telegraph your moves ahead of time. That will give your opponent time to counter. Try to hit me one more time, but this time have your hands up already. Be loose, don't tense your arm until just before you land the hit. Right here," he said, pointing at his chin.

Jill did as he instructed, raising her fists. She hopped back and forth between her toes freely, no doubt imitating the movies she'd seen, but really looked as though she was trying this time. When she was ready, her right hand shot out for his face. She did better this time, and had managed for the most part not to tighten up until the last second. But he easily anticipated the attack anyway, rotating at the waist, leaning to his left, and throwing a counter-punch of his own while grabbing her arm at the elbow. He stopped an inch from her left cheekbone, her eyes wide and locked on his fist. After a second, he dropped his hands. "Better."

"You knew where that was coming from though! You had the advantage! You knew where it was going and that I'm right-handed, and there's only so many ways my fist can get to your face."

"True, but don't only use your dominant hand," he said, pleased that she was catching on and analyzing the geometry. "Alright, you want to pick your own attack?"

"Yeah," she said, playfully confident. "But only if you try to hit me too."

"I'm not going to hit you back," he snickered dismissively.

Jill pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. "Come on, Spike. I can take a beating, remember? Just... maybe do it at fifty percent power."

He chuckled. "Are you sure about this?"

"How good would I be in a fight if I can't even dodge? And how am I gonna learn to dodge if you don't try to hit me?" He admired her determination, though foolhardy, but wasn't thrilled about her idea. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do, but he also couldn't argue with her logic.

"Alright…" he at last sighed in defeat, instigating a big smile from her lips.

They squared off, and she bounced back and forth on her toes again, her loose fists raised and ready. Then she paused and reminded him, "Fifty percent."

He just nodded and said, "Get ready. Be loose. Be fluid." He watched her nod, take a deep breath and exhale, then look him in the eyes, her resolve almost palpable. The corners of his mouth curved upwards, and he realized he was having fun as well.

She tried to fake a punch with her left hand this time, then go for his chest with her right. It almost worked. She was able to graze him, but he deflected and landed a blow to her left shoulder at the same time, knocking her off-balance. She stumbled to the floor, then grabbed at her shoulder. "Damn it, Spike, I said fifty percent," Jill grumbled, wincing from the pain.

He knelt beside her as she sat up, feeling worse than he thought he would have. "Sorry. That _was_ fifty percent. Give or take. Are you alright?" He checked her shoulder, holding her arm and making sure she could move it.

"Yeah I'm okay," she said, pulling the strap of her shirt aside so she could survey the damage herself. Then she turned to him and asked, "Alright, what'd I do wrong? Should I have yelled 'wa-TAH!' as I attacked? Ya know, like Bruce Lee?" She was obviously trying to make him feel better about having hit her, and with the guilt he carried he didn't mind the additional assurance.

"It wasn't so much what you did wrong as what I did faster. You seem to be getting it, though. You've just got to rely more on your instincts and what feels right for you."

"Okay. You wanna go again?" she asked eagerly.

Spike couldn't hide his surprise, and reacted by raising an eyebrow and laughing. "I don't think even _my_ questionable conscience can handle another round."

He had made her giggle, and when she looked up at him again with that smile something inside him melted just the tiniest bit. "Oh okay. I didn't mean to traumatize you, Spike. Next time, then?" She was tenacious. He laughed and shook his head, then started to get up, offering her a hand. She took it and stood along with him, still looking like she was waiting for an answer.

"Heh. Okay, lesson two tomorrow then, if you feel up to it," he said, pointing to her shoulder. She grinned at him in response, and he was compelled to return the expression.

"Thanks Spike. This was fun."

"Yeah... it was."

"I'm hungry now, though. Are you?" she asked him.

From somewhere in the ship they heard, "Ed is hungry!" She met his eyes and they shared a little chuckle.

* * *

Jet had enlisted Edward to help him try to crack Dameon's whereabouts, because all he'd been able to discover on his own was that he goes by a different name now, but it hadn't really opened up any new avenues of investigation that he could see. Ed had had better luck. She had been able to discern an interesting pattern in his behavior, noticing that someone using his new name had purchased native flowers of differing varieties on several occasions. They'd been at it for a while now, but he felt they were getting close. They were sure he had to be on one of the moons of Jupiter, solely by process of elimination.

"Supper's ready, Jet!" he heard Jill's voice call from down the corridor. Ed quickly hopped up and ran for the living area, wailing like a banshee. Spike and Jill had already claimed the couch, and Edward had beaten him to the chair. He sighed and sat on the floor again, grabbing a plate.

"So any news on Dameon, Jet?" Jill asked him, taking a bite of her food.

"Ed and I were able to narrow it down to one of Jupiter's moons, but we're not sure which one. I was about to set a course before you called. Seems he's changed his name to Scott White, probably because it's common and harder to track," he reported to her, taking short pauses here and there to chew. "By the way, did he like to buy you flowers a lot?"

"Yeah… he could be very charming when he wanted to be. Why?"

Faye came in then, her nose in the air obviously having alerted her it was dinner time. "Thanks for the heads-up, you guys," she said grumpily.

"Hm. He's been evidently making a lot of purchases from florists," Jet answered ignoring Faye's comment, then Jill's deep red shoulder caught his eye. "What happened to your shoulder?"

"Oh that. Spike got me really good earlier. Sent me flying and everything. It was pretty cool," she said, chuckling.

"Spike did _what?!_ " he exclaimed, making her realize something was wrong. He looked to his partner, who appeared to shrink into the couch.

"No, Jet, it's okay," Jill said soothingly, holding out her hands in front of Spike as if to protect him from Jet's harsh gaze.

"You're hitting girls now?" Faye said, getting worked up as well.

"Spike, there'll be no beating up guests on my ship," he said sternly.

"It's not his fault, I told him to so I could learn to dodge. And it was only at half power anyway." Jet just sighed, and she added slyly in Spike's direction, who had remained silent throughout the topic, "It's fine, I'll get him next time…"

The older bounty hunter shook his head disapprovingly. "You're as stubborn as he is, my friend."


	4. Chapter 4

In her two years in captivity, Jillian had made it a habit to do a quick sketch or three in the morning before the guards had come to kick her out of bed. It helped her keep her sanity, and gave her the only sense of freedom she'd had in those days. The routine had stuck, even though now she could draw whatever, whenever, and wherever she wanted. But these days she found her mind was overrun with only one muse.

She went looking for Spike, hoping he would still be willing to give her another lesson after Jet's scolding the night before. He had obviously felt bad about it, and she crossed her fingers he would be able to get past that so she could get better.

He wasn't in the common room, so she tried Jet's quarters. He was working at his desk, and looked up when she knocked on the door frame. "Hey Jet. You seen Spike? I wanted to see if he would train some more with me."

Jet let out a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl, then said, "You still haven't given up on that yet, huh?"

"Uh uh," she said, shaking her head.

"It looks worse today," he said, pointing to the big purple patch of skin on her left shoulder.

"That's normal, though. It's fiiiine! Don't worry. I can't get better if I know he's not gonna hit back."

He sighed again, admitting defeat. "He's on the bridge."

"Thanks," she said, her face brightening.

She turned to leave, but he stopped her. "Oh Jill?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't let him hit you this time."

"I'll do my best," she replied, grinning, then took off for the bridge.

She found Spike sitting sideways in one of the seats, his leg draped across the armrest. He had a cigarette between his fingers as he stared out at the blackness of space. "Hi Spike. Whatcha up to?" she asked cheerfully, tossing herself in the copilot seat.

"Thinking," he said quietly in his deep voice.

"What about?"

He took a breath as if he were about to tell her for real, but then when he looked at her he just said, "...Nothing." She responded by scrunching up her face in curiosity, but ultimately decided to let it go and not press him, figuring patience was her best bet with him, which she had plenty of. "How's your shoulder?" he asked, his eyes shifting downward and cringing slightly.

"It... looks worse than it is."

"I don't think I want to do that anymore," he said, his reluctance written all over his pretty face.

"No, Spike, please don't say that. I really want to learn this!" she pleaded with him, leaning over the armrest in his direction.

"I really don't want to hurt you," he said, his eyebrows furrowing.

She found his concern undeniably adorable. "It takes more than that to hurt me, Spike. _Please_ keep teaching me. I can't remember the last time I had that much fun. Pretty please, Spikey wikey?" she said, smiling at him as sweetly as she was able, batting her eyelashes and using every trick she knew.

He laughed at her demurely, but she thought she might've seen a slight flush of color in his face. "Oh alright. But only if you promise to never call me that again."

"Yayyy!" she said, bouncing up from the chair, grabbing his wrist, and tugging him along.

He stood slowly, teasingly groaning, then pulled her hand back. She froze half a step in front of him still holding onto his wrist, staring up into his brown eyes, and worried she'd done something wrong. "I mean it though. Promise," he said humorlessly.

The smile left her face, and she said, "I promise." He stared gravely back at her a moment, then a smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. Her smile returned when she realized he had been teasing her, and she nudged him playfully in the ribs. "Are you picking on me, Spike?"

"Nope," he said, striding down the corridor to the common room. She followed close, studying him from behind as she tried to shift her mind into learning mode.

They pushed the furniture to the side again and she stood in the middle of the floor, awaiting instructions. "Alright," he began, standing casually a couple steps away, "try to punch me." She sighed, knowing full well this assault would end in his favor. The time it would take for her to close the distance to attack would give him more than enough time to react. But she trusted his tutelage, deciding to give it her best shot anyway.

"Okay," she said guardedly, as Faye entered the room carrying a book, saw what was going on, and took a seat in the chair off to the side. She remembered what he said yesterday, trying to loosen up and flow like water. With her hands up, she took a couple steps and thrust out her right fist towards his stomach. He parried the incoming blow by grabbing her outstretched wrist, shifting his weight, and knocking her front foot out from beneath her. He simultaneously pushed her chest, sending her to the floor, though not letting go of her wrist so she didn't hit too hard. She laid on the floor, looking up at him standing over her.

"Fight without fighting. Let your opponent do the work for you. It'll keep you from wasting energy and end the fight quicker." He pulled her up, and she met his gaze. "It's all about economy of motion, optimizing your movements to use as little energy as necessary. Do what comes naturally, but in a disciplined way."

She heard his words, but was distracted by how close he stood to her. He was so tall and lean, all legs, yet with broad shoulders. And he smelled good. She wondered how he could ever keep his balance in a fight being shaped like that. It was right then an idea came into her mind. "Right, what comes naturally. Can we try again?" He smirked and nodded, taking a step back to ready the playing field. 'Be like water, be like water...BE water' she repeated inside her head, bouncing lightly back and forth between her feet.

She swung out with her left hand, but he was easily able to deflect the clumsy attack. It didn't matter to her, however, as it was just a distraction. She extended her right heel between his legs to kick his leading foot behind her, and shoved him hard in the chest with her right hand, grabbing a fistful of his pale yellow shirt. To her surprise, he stumbled, off balance, and fell backwards, her tangled leg and grip on his shirt pulling her down with him. She landed on her knees, straddling his waist. She still clutched his shirt, and had her left hand at the ready, balled into a fist. After a second, her face erupted into a maniacal grin when she realized her plan had been successful. He gazed up at her, a smile blossoming on his lips. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her shoulder-length hair framing her face as she lowered her hand and looked down at him.

"Yeah," he said, still smiling.

"Did I win?"

"Heh. Yeah, you win."

"You didn't _let_ me win, right?"

"No."

"Oh my god, get a room, ugh!" Faye whined, stomping out the door. Suddenly embarrassed, Jill swung herself off of him and sat on the floor cross-legged, as he too sat up and scooched away slightly.

"What made you think to try that?" he asked, back to being the teacher and unaffected by Faye's comment.

"Well, I was thinking of how tall you are, and how my center of balance _has_ to be way lower than yours, even if you're way better at this than me. I thought I should try to use that to my advantage."

He grinned proudly. "Good. Very good. What about the punch you led with?"

"That was just a decoy. I figured you wouldn't hit me back this time around, and I needed a way to distract you from my actual plan."

"Not bad, but that probably wouldn't have worked if this had been a real fight."

"I know...but it still worked this time," she reminded him playfully, smiling sideways in his direction.

* * *

"We got him?" Jet asked Ed, her goggles reflecting the shine from her screen.

"Yep," the girl replied, tapping her foot on the floor to the jazz music Jet had on.

"Good job, Edward. I'll tell everyone to get ready."

He found Jill and Spike sprawled on the couch, still pushed to the side of the room, apparently worn out from training. "No time to rest, you two. We've got ourselves a lead."

"Really? You found Dameon?" Jill asked, straightening herself upright.

"He's been placing orders for flowers at shops across the system wherever he goes."

"Not the best at laying low when he's supposed to be hiding, huh," Spike said.

"Well, let's just say he's a bit of a golden retriever: beautiful, but not a lot going on in his head," she grumbled. He realized it was the first negative thing he'd really heard come out of her mouth, but couldn't blame her in the least.

"This order hasn't been delivered yet, so we've got to beat them to it." He looked around, adding, "Where's Faye?"

"Took her ship planetside as soon as we made orbit," Spike chimed in.

Jet sighed. "Could've probably used her as bait."

"You know how she loves the Ganymede nightlife."

"Guess it's the three of us, then. Though you'll have to keep hidden for the most part. I think Faye might have a scarf or something you can use," he informed Jill. "Just don't forget to put it back exactly how you found it or Faye will have your head."

"Got it," she said, going off to find the item in question."

"She'll ride with you, since she obviously likes you best," Jet added once she'd left the room, pausing a second to observe Spike's reaction. It looked as though that was news to him, his eyebrow ticking upwards. "I'll scout ahead to make sure she won't blow our cover right away. You'll come in once the coast is clear."


	5. Chapter 5

Faye needed an excuse to get out on her own for the night. It was easy to get cabin fever in the Bebop. Some of her favorite casinos were on Ganymede, and she could never resist the urge whenever they were near. Unfortunately she barely had any money left, but that didn't stop her. She could always use her feminine wiles to charm her way onto some unwitting gentleman's arm.

She stood at the bar alone, her dress sparkling like diamonds under the lights. She slowly sipped at a martini, using it more as an ornament than a beverage. Trying to guess the winning numbers, she watched the roulette wheel spinning for a long time.

"You want to have a go at it, darling?" She turned to see a tall, handsome man beside her, his blue eyes shining beneath his finely coiffed blonde hair. She saw her chance, and put on her best smile.

"Oh, I wouldn't even know what to do," she said coyly. "I never could get behind the whole concept of gambling."

He grinned captivatingly at her. "Perhaps you haven't had the proper partner, Miss…" the man said suavely with a refined accent. She felt her heart race as she outstretched her hand to meet his waiting grip.

"Valentine. Faye Valentine," she said, fluttering her eyelashes. He gently raised her hand to his lips, his eyes set on hers all the while.

"Scott White," he introduced himself, "very pleased to make your acquaintance. Would you care to be my lady luck for a while?"

Faye grinned at him. "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

Jet scouted around the flower shop, making sure there was no one who looked anything like Dameon on the premises. He signaled to Spike, who was leaning against a wall down the street, smoking a cigarette, with Jill beside him. Both of them followed, meeting him outside the store. They went in together, taking a quick scan of the inside. There were strange and wonderful blooms of many different varieties, both native to the moon and imported, along with typical gifts of candy, cards, and plush toys. A shriveled old lady sat behind the counter knitting, and jumped in surprise when she heard the bell chime on the door.

"Oh my, you frightened me there for a second! My mind was miles away," the kindly woman said with a chuckle.

"Sorry about that, ma'am," Jet said politely, taking the lead while Spike and Jill nonchalantly pretended to browse nearby.

"Never you mind, dear. What can I help you with?"

"Well, a friend of mine placed an order with you yesterday, to be delivered tomorrow to his girlfriend. He talked to me earlier and asked if I would be able to come by and pick up her flowers this afternoon. You see, she has to go out of town unexpectedly and won't be home to receive them tomorrow, and he's stuck at work…"

"Oh I understand completely, dear. What was the name?" she asked, opening her ledger.

"Scott White," Jet replied, leaning forward to try to get a look at the address. It had all been written in a flowing script, and he wasn't able to catch it trying to read upside down.

"Ah yes, here it is. Two dozen roses, sent to a Miss... Amelie Croft." She giggled a moment when she remembered that she had previously begun to write a different name and then crossed it out. "It would appear your friend must be a bit of a ladies' man! The silly thing started to tell me a different name before he corrected himself."

"Haha, no kidding? What was it?" Jet wondered, playing along.

"Jennifer Tr-something," she said, trying to make out the half-written, crossed out name.

"Oh right, his ex. Yeah, too bad, I liked that one."

"Well, you know what they say about love being blind. I'll just go grab them from the back, dear. Just a minute." Jet exchanged a smirk and raised eyebrow with Jill, who was evidently as impressed as he was at how well this mission was going. The elderly woman returned a few minutes later, carrying two armloads of crimson blossoms.

"Here, let me help you with those," Jet said, taking them from her when he noticed she was struggling a little.

"Thank you, dear."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Scott didn't give me her address, and I haven't been there yet. They just started dating…"

"Of course. I'll write it down for you," she said, scribbling on a slip of paper.

"Thanks a lot, you've been a huge help," Jet said graciously, taking the paper from her and turning to leave. Jill was sniffing a flower when he walked past for the door, Spike eyeing her from across the display.

"Can I interest you in a rose for your sweetheart, hon?" Jet turned around to answer, but saw the question was not directed at him.

Spike froze with his mouth open and lost all color in his face, prompting Jill to step in for him. "Oh, we're not...you know, together," she said, smiling gently, while turning Spike to the door.

Jet had to chuckle when the last thing he heard was the old lady say quietly behind her hand, "Give him time, dearie."

* * *

"Surely you've played Blackjack before, Faye. I simply cannot believe that with the skill I just witnessed," Scott said, his winning smile almost twinkling.

Faye finished off her third martini, setting it on the small table she shared with her new beau. She had been more successful at charming him out of his money than she could have hoped, though to be honest she wasn't sure if it was really her who was doing all the charming. The man had to be loaded, with his expensive, tailored suit and the way he threw money around. "Beginner's luck, I suppose," she replied slyly.

"Faye Valentine, you are an enigma. I know nothing about you, and yet you've managed to secure my boundless curiosity," he said, taking her hand from the table to hold loosely in his.

She fell into his cerulean eyes and velvet voice. Was it really him or the alcohol that made her weak in the knees? "What do you want to know, Scott?"

"Anything! Everything. Where you're from, what you do for a living, what your favorite food is, who your favorite artist is, what music you listen to..."

She wasn't sure where to begin, but she knew she didn't want to answer the question about where she was from. "Hmm, well… my favorite food is probably sushi, or maybe chocolate. You wouldn't believe me if I told you what I do for a living, but… I'm kind of a bounty hunter, and my fav–"

"A bounty hunter?" he said, his eyebrows furrowing. "How interesting. Please, continue."

"Oh. Yes, I'm not really into art a whole lot. I wouldn't know the first thing about it, honestly. But I have this 'friend', Jillian Arainai, who's really good at it. I kinda like her work."

His eyes widened at the mention of her name, his face going white, and he stammered, "Jillian Arainai? You're friends with Jillian Arainai?"

"Oh yeah, we're practically besties," Faye tried to convince him. "You know her?"

"Yes, well… know _of_ her. I enjoy her work as well. Though I'd heard lately she stopped doing originals and passes off counterfeits as masterworks. Say, when did you last see her?"

"Oh, this morning sometime. She was on top of another 'friend' of mine. Well, let's just call him...an intolerable adolescent," she said, correcting herself.

She saw him look at his watch. "Would you excuse me for a moment, darling?"

* * *

"Ed! Hey Edward, you there?" Jet asked over the comm system in his Hammerhead after setting her down beside the Swordfish.

There was a crackling sound, then the girl came on the line. "Ed's here!"

"Good. I need a favor. Can you do a search and find all you can for a 'Jennifer' with the last name starting with 'T-R'?"

"Okey smokey."

"Thanks Ed." Jet shut down the engine and checked the address on the slip of paper in his hand one last time. "Yep, this is the place," he said to the group, Spike and Jill already having climbed out of their craft.

They walked beside a quaint motel, carrying the two dozen roses in one arm. Spike followed further behind with Jill, trying to blend in. Jet led them up the stairs to Room 221B, where he knocked on the door. His gun was at the ready, hidden amidst the bouquet, and Spike took up position beside the door, his pistol handy inside his jacket. After a moment with no answer, he tried again. "Miss Croft? I have a delivery here for you from a Mr. Scott White." Still nothing. He gave the signal to Spike, who kicked down the door. Now they had to be fast before the management got wind of the damage. The two men went in, doing a quick search of the rooms.

"Anything?" Spike asked calmly.

"No," Jet said, giving Jill the all-clear.

"He's not here," she said looking around disappointedly, then slumping down on the bed. Jet felt almost as bad as he thought she must. He had wanted very much to be able to give her the answers she needed to get some closure on this difficult chapter of her life.

"I'm sorry, Jill," Jet said, sitting next to her.

"Seems like whoever was here left in a hurry. Look," Spike noted, pointing out the couple articles of clothing obviously dropped on the floor as someone rushed out the door. Many other items in the room that one would expect a traveler to take with them were left behind as well, like a razor and toothbrush, and everything was a mess.

"We'll find them, don't worry. But we should go before the manager shows up," Jet warned them, discarding the purposeless flowers on the bed and getting up. Jill followed him slowly and gloomily, and he paused to put an arm around her shoulders to lead her back to the ships a little more briskly. They were down the steps and on the sidewalk before he realized Spike wasn't behind him. He turned to look back and saw him at the top of the stairway, dashing to catch up to them. Must've wanted to take another quick look around, he figured, hoping he found something they could use.


	6. Chapter 6

Jill lounged morosely in her room that evening, drawing. It made her feel better, or at least distracted her enough to keep the feelings she didn't want to feel from surfacing. She harbored a deep-rooted anger towards Dameon, along with the sense of helplessness that came with his betrayal. She kept going over things in her head, wondering where it all went wrong.

Deep in thought, she didn't notice right away when Spike appeared in the doorway. "You okay?" he asked softly, leaning on the side of the door. She was surprised by his voice, suddenly realizing who she was drawing. She frantically shoved the paper under her pillow, looking up at him.

"Yeah, yeah…" she said, distracted, anxiously looking around at all the other sketches of him hanging from the wooden boxes. She quickly yanked down as many as she could reach from where she sat, jamming them under her pillow. "I'm… I'm okay." She knew he had been able to see them all, but he graciously ignored her frenzied redecoration and took a seat beside her on the bed.

"It's… okay if you're not. Just wanted you to know that." Even the way he talked followed the Jeet Kune Do principle of minimum effort for maximum effect, she realized just then. She saw the concern on his face, concern for _her_ and her feelings, and she was deeply affected by it.

"I just… wanted to know _why_ he did it, you know? How he could so easily toss me aside like that, the son of a bitch!" She had let her temper flare slightly, and took a breath to calm herself. She hadn't wanted to admit to herself there was an actual recipient for all Dameon's flowers that wasn't her. Had she really meant that little to him? Had any of it even been real? "I can barely even remember his face and yet he still torments me." Looking into his eyes, seemingly reflecting her own pain, she continued, "What did I do wrong, Spike?"

"This was in no way your fault. You understand? Even strong women can be manipulated by those they trust. None of this was because of anything you did wrong," he said assuredly.

Hearing this new side to him made her heart flutter. "Thanks Spike. I needed that."

"Know what else you need?" he said, a smirk appearing as she looked at him questioningly. "To come somewhere with me. I think I might have an idea of how to get your mind off things." He pulled down one of the drawings she had missed and slowly handed it to her, now grinning widely. "Unless you want to stay here alone, surrounded by your sketches..."

She snatched it from his hand, smiling sheepishly. "Cut it out, you meanie, teasing the emotionally distraught girl...that's really low," she said, playfully pushing him over on the bed. He laughed, a sound she really enjoyed hearing. As the laughter died she met his gaze and said fondly, "Of course I'll go with you, Spike."

* * *

"So how did you meet Dameon, anyway?" Spike asked, setting his beer on the edge of the pool table.

She rolled her eyes at him, but also smiled. He wasn't sure which to believe. "Do you really want to talk about him?" He didn't say anything, just looked uncomfortable, until she eventually acquiesced. "At an exhibit. I had some of my work on display, and he struck up a conversation with me. He was all charismatic and handsome in his three-piece suit and classy accent. It wasn't hard to fall for him at first. Even after he started getting himself in trouble with gambling, I couldn't say no to him. Four in the corner," she said, sinking her shot.

"Nice one," he applauded her, scanning his eyes across the mostly empty bar.

"I told you I wasn't half bad," she replied, smiling. "Um, three in the center pocket, I guess." She missed it this time, but only barely, the ball seeming to almost jump back out. "Damn. That's the bad half showing itself," she joked. She leaned next to him against the table chalking her cue and looking up at him through her lashes, suddenly striking him as quite alluring. "So what about you, Spike, you got any stories about your exes to make me feel better about mine?"

His thoughts clouded over, manifesting in his expression. He wished she hadn't asked him that, but couldn't blame her for it. He had kind of brought it on himself anyway. "Yeah," he said quietly, focusing on lining up his shot.

"Sorry," she apologized, putting her hand on his arm. "Wrong question?"

He stood and took a breath, appreciating her discretion, but decided to throw her a line. "Wrong time. I… I'll tell you about her some day. I promise. But not tonight. Tonight doesn't need any more sob stories."

After a moment she smiled at him, touching his shoulder. Was she _trying_ to distract him by doing that so often? "You're right, Spike. Tonight needs another beer. You want a refill on yours too?"

"No, thanks. I have to fly us home," he answered with a grin.

"Okay. I'll be right back," she said, watching him over her shoulder as she made her way to the bar. His eyes followed her for a minute, until he took the opportunity to light up a cigarette. Taking a long drag, hands in his pockets, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back to exhale when he heard a loud, obviously drunk voice from across the room.

"Hey there, l'il honey, let me buy you a drink."

"No thanks, I've already got one," came Jill's polite reply. Spike's head turned, though still tilted back, and he saw her walking briskly back towards him carrying a full glass, with three big ruffians following a little ways behind her.

He stuck his cigarette back in his mouth in order to line up his shot now that she'd returned. "Seven in the corner." He banked and sunk it, just like he called.

"Nicely done," Jill said, smirking at him charmingly. He nodded at her, taking note of where the thugs had claimed a nearby table. The ringleader paced like a caged lion, his chest all puffed up. She moved to his other side, looking past him. "Spike," his companion said discreetly in his ear, "I don't like the way those guys are looking at me."

"I know," he said warily, turning to her. "Let your opponent do the work for you, remember?"

She got a nervous look on her face when she realized why he reminded her of that, but swallowed and said, "I remember." He continued on then as if nothing was amiss, making his next shot as well. That prompted the alpha of the pack to strut his way over to their table, the other two following diligently.

"What d'ya say me and you have a game? We could make the stakes interestin'. Play ya for your girl there," the drunk suggested to Spike, motioning to the slender brunette standing partly behind him. The other two goons slowly circled around them while cracking their knuckles.

Spike casually crushed out his cigarette. "She's not my girl."

"Good," one of the lackeys wearing a sleeveless plaid shirt said, "Then you ain't gon' mind if we borrow her comp'ny for a while." He snatched her away from Spike's side, holding her to him by the small of her back.

"Jill," Spike said, while still eyeing up the leader. After a couple seconds he turned to her, a look of disgust on her face as she was being pressed up against the unwashed hick. "Lesson Three."

He watched as she took a breath and her face turned from revulsion to determination. She swung her leg backward and then up, her knee connecting hard with the man's groin. If that's what felt natural to her, he should be sure never to make her angry, he thought. That prompted the leader to bellow incoherently, making a mad rush for Spike. The bounty hunter gracefully stepped out of the way, snapping his pool cue in half across the attacker's lower back as he sailed by. Spike turned his attention back to his companion to make sure she was safe. Her goon had doubled over, wailing in pain, and she took the opportunity to elbow him hard at the base of the neck. He fell to the floor, rolling pitifully, while the more timid third guy went after her next.

But Spike's attention had turned back to his own battle then, as the ringleader had composed himself for another attempt, drunken rage boiling in his bloodshot eyes. He stood a couple paces away, snarling and beating on his chest, until he could hold back no longer and charged. Spike twirled on his left foot, while easily extending his right one in a powerful kick to the side of his oncoming opponent's face, knocking him out cold.

"Spike! Watch–" was all he heard Jill say before a chair smashed him over the back of the head. He fell over onto the pool table, his vision reeling, and shaking his head in an attempt to regain his senses.

Disoriented and with his ears ringing, he turned back around to watch as Jillian struggled to free herself to get to him, distress all over her face. The one she'd first kneed in the crotch had since recovered and wrapped his meaty arms around her again, and the smaller third man cautiously approached Spike. She growled in frustration, unable to move her arms, until she hauled off and flung her head back hard into her captor's face. He let out a sound more like an animal than a human, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. She hissed and gritted her teeth in pain, then went after the smaller guy when she saw him coming for Spike. She grabbed one of the billiard balls from the table in her hand and easily smacked him over the head, his attention mostly on the wounded bounty hunter. The degenerate screamed in agony and decided he'd had enough, leaving his buddies and making for the door.

With one thug sobbing on the floor, the leader unconscious, and the third hoofing it for the exit, he watched her finally able to rush over to where he leaned against the pool table, a feeling of pride mixed with desire bubbling up within him. "Spike! Are you alright?" she said, slinging her arm under his to help hold him up. "Your head's bleeding. We've got to get you to a doctor."

"No. No doctors. Just get me back to the Swordfish." She had already begun to make her way in that direction, helping him along.

"Are you sure? There's kind of a lot of blood," she said, examining the wet clump of hair towards the back of his head.

"Yeah. Been in worse shape than this before."

"If this happens often, maybe you should teach me how to fly your ship," she said, eliciting half a smirk from his lips as they trudged past the unimpressed bartender.

* * *

Faye had been looking everywhere around the ship that evening for Jill. She was feeling frustrated and slighted and needed an ear, and she had been a good listener that time she did her nails. She had decided another woman's advice was in order after the events that evening. "Jet," she said, finding him at his desk, "have you seen Jill anywhere? I wanted to talk to her about this amazing guy I met earlier. I thought we really hit it off, but then he just up and ditched me. It was really disappointing. At least I got to cash out the chips I'd won with his money."

"Hm. She went with Spike somewhere. Haven't seen them since we got back from Ganymede earlier," Jet said, ignoring her story, which just made her more annoyed.

Faye made a sour face at the information. "Have you...noticed anything different about Spike lately?"

Jet stopped whatever it was he was doing. "What, you mean how he's actually been smiling lately?"

Faye cringed and sighed, "Yeah, that."

"Those two have become a bit inseparable, haven't they," he noted while rubbing his beard.

"Yeah, if they're not trying to beat each other up, they're making doe-eyes at one another." She couldn't be sure if it was Spike's happiness or her own loneliness that was bothering her more.

"Looks like we've got a regular romance onboard. Good for them," Jet said warmly, going back to his task.

"Yeah…" Faye agreed, almost convincingly, before heading back to her room.


	7. Chapter 7

Jillian carefully set Spike down on the couch and went to the kitchen to fetch some bandages and a bowl of water. She was worried about him, though he had assured her he would be fine. She didn't know much about first aid or head wounds, but he had gotten hurt trying to protect her, and she was going to do the best she could to take care of him.

"Sit up for me, Spike," she asked tenderly, helping him along. He sat there slouching like usual, watching her every move. "You've got a lot of blood in your hair, but I think it's stopped bleeding for the most part. I'm gonna try to get as much out as I can before I bandage it." He nodded slowly, his eyes still locked intently on hers, as she sat beside him. She revelled in the chance to touch him, even if it was only to lick his wounds, so to speak. First removing his jacket, she then gently dabbed the back of his head with a wet towel until she had soaked up as much blood as she could. Carefully, she began to wrap bandages around his head, tufts of his thick wavy hair sticking out in spots.

"You were great tonight, Jill," he said soft and low. Her chest fluttered at the sound of his voice, making her grin at him.

"Thanks." She felt her face getting warm and tried to breathe more regularly.

"Don't know if I'd call it Jeet Kune Do, but it was definitely scrappy. And fierce as a hellcat."

She chuckled, then shyly studied the bandages in her lap. "I can get like that when… when someone I care about is in trouble."

"I was more worried about you." She raised her head, surprised by his words. Spike was watching her wide eyes looking back at him, and something about his gaze struck her as different, a certain sparkle she hadn't seen before. She put her hand on his sleeve without thinking, compelled to touch him. His eyes broke free from hers and flicked to her lips, and that was the last bit of encouragement she needed. Slowly, guardedly, she began to lean in close to him. Her heart and mind began to race, the pounding in her ears unable to deafen the screaming will to kiss him. He followed suit willingly, naught but a breath away, until they both heard heavy footsteps just outside in the corridor. They pulled back, flustered, with Jet entering the common room.

"Oh you're back. Faye was looking for you earlier, Jill," he said cheerfully, oblivious to the moment he'd unintentionally interrupted.

She swallowed, taking a deep breath, and looked self-consciously to Jet after exchanging a quick but knowing glance with Spike. "Okay, I'll find her in the morning. It's pretty late now."

"Spike, what did you do this time?" he asked sardonically when he noticed his partner's bandaged head.

Jill spoke for him, a smirk on her face. "We were just quietly playing pool, minding our own business, when these three drunken hooligans come in and start hitting on me and being typical jackasses, like they'd never seen a woman before. They were like, 'I'll play ya for your girl', but Spike was having none of it," she told him, imitating their voices. "They grabbed me and Spike started high-kicking and being his generally awesome self, but then they smashed a chair on his head and he was bleeding everywhere."

"Sounds like you two had one hell of a night," Jet said, chuckling.

"It was fun, except for the Spike getting hurt part." She looked to him again, the concern filling her mind once more when she saw his face. Reaching out her hand, she freed a little lock of his dark hair from the confines of the bandage.

"Heh. Here Spike, I'll give you a hand to bed. I don't want you getting blood on my sofa."

"Oh, um, it's okay, I can do that," she suggested, looking at Spike.

"Nah, I've got it. He's a lot bigger than you." She didn't want to leave him yet, but she could see Jet was trying to be helpful and thoughtful, and she just couldn't let him down. She watched him help Spike up from the couch, and then followed them longingly to the doorway.

"Good night Spike," she said despondently at the threshold. He glanced back over his shoulder, the look in his eyes mirroring hers.

* * *

Wearing only his loose drawstring lounge pants and bandages on his head, Spike laid awake in his quarters the next morning, smoking and looking at the stars. They had always been there when he needed to think, twinkling indifferently. Thumbing a rose he'd debated taking from the bouquet Jet had abandoned in the motel room yesterday, his thoughts drifted to the previous evening's events. He had slipped up last night, in more ways than one. Not only had he been bested by three hapless drunks, but he had fallen for another woman, something he had sworn to himself would never happen again. But it had, and he couldn't get the kiss that never was out of his mind. The way she had looked at him when she touched his arm, like she could see everything inside him, all the darkness and sorrow of his past, and yet was unafraid. His conscience plagued him, the thought of bringing her into all that grief and misery making him sick. And yet, he selfishly wanted her, wanted to tell her everything and then let her make him forget.

He was startled by a soft knock at his door, followed by Jill's voice. "Spike?"

"Yeah," he said, his thoughts drifting away like the smoke from his cigarette.

She poked her head in. "Can I come in? I wanted to check on your bandages and see how you're doing."

"Yeah."

She opened the door, examining his room until she saw the stars at which he stared. "How did you end up with the best room? It's smaller, but you can't argue with that view," she marvelled, sitting down beside him on the bed. "Whatcha doing?"

"Thinking." He waited for her next question, still looking out his window.

"What about?"

His mouth curled into a smirk, and he turned to her, meeting her gaze. "You."

"Me?" she replied coyly, blushing and smiling back at him.

"Yeah. I… I wanted to apologize for last night." His conscience had gotten the better of him.

"There's nothing to apologize for. I know it wasn't what you had planned, but it was fun anyway. Except for when you got a chair smashed over your head. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Alright, but… that's not what I meant," he answered, sitting up. Her brow furrowed when she realized what he was referring to.

"Don't apologize for that either. I _wanted_ to kiss you."

He watched her face cloud over, and felt horrible for what he was about to say. He sighed joylessly. "I did too. But… for your sake, I don't think we should do this." She looked in his eyes, reading him like a book. He recognized the same determination dawning on her face as whenever she was about to mount an attack.

"Spike," she began confidently, "whatever it is in your past that haunts you, whatever you did, whoever hurt you… none of it matters now. It's all made you who you are right this very minute, and you're all that I want." She put her hand in his, so small in comparison, and the walls began to crumble inside him.

He looked deep in her resolute green eyes, trying to get himself to say the words he didn't want to say. But her stubbornness had outclassed his one more time. All he wanted was to see her smile. Was that really all that selfish?

He took a deep breath, and quietly said to her, "I'd wandered through worlds like a ghost, looking for answers that were never there. You're the only thing in my life that truly makes me feel alive." Her countenance became awash with emotion of all kinds, and she responded by holding his face in her hands, her lips smiling but her brow knitted.

"Oh Spike… I hope you really meant that, because you're stuck with me now. I'm yours," she said smiling, any hint of melancholy having cleared from her expression. He grinned in response, giving up on any foolish reluctance he'd felt when he saw how genuinely happy she was. Spike pulled her in close to his chest, and finally pressed her lips to his. She eagerly returned the sentiment, her hands on either side of his neck and slowly drifting to his bare shoulders. He wanted to never let her go, for there to never come a time when he couldn't feel her soft skin against him, no matter how small.

* * *

"The Edward has found the Jennifer!" Ed announced triumphantly from the floor of the living room.

"What have you got on her?" Jet asked, lifting his nose from his magazine.

"It would seem the Dameon Kent made off with the syndicate leader's girlfriend, a-one Jennifer Tristain, along with a rather large sum of cash money from him as well."

"He stole the boss's girlfriend, huh?" Jet said, impressed.

"He must've been quite the charmer to convince a girl to give up all that money and power," Faye presumed while filing her nails.

"I'll go find Jill to break her the news," Jet sighed.

"I'd try Spike's room. She wasn't in hers when I was trying to find her earlier," Faye called snarkily as Jet crossed the floor.

He headed to Spike's door and knocked. "Spike? Is Jill with you?"

After a moment filled with some giggling and rustling sounds, he heard Spike say, "Yeah. Why?"

"Ed found some information on Dameon she might want to hear."

There was another pause before he answered, "We'll be right there."

A few minutes later, they joined the rest of the group in the common room, looking like they knew some juicy secret and never more than half a step apart. Jet smiled knowingly to himself, able to recognize a flowering relationship when he saw one. Jill, a rose tucked in her hair, took the last seat on the couch next to Faye, who still filed her nails disinterestedly, while Spike sat beside her on the armrest. "So you found something?" she wondered.

"Yes. Apparently the leader of the syndicate that took you put out a hit on Dameon, or Scott White as he's known now, for running off with his fiancée and stealing 4 million woolongs in the process."

"Oh my god, is he… dead?" Jill asked, concerned.

"No, but–" Jet began.

"Did you say Scott White?" Faye interrupted the conversation, her face drained of all color.

"Yeah, why?" Jet said, slightly aggravated at the disruption.

"Did he have deep blue eyes, perfect blonde hair, and a voice like butter?" Faye asked Jill nervously.

"Yeah, I guess you could describe him that way… how do you know that?" she wondered.

"I… might have run into him yesterday at the casino."

"What?!" they all exclaimed together.

"I was looking to spend someone else's money, but he managed to charm me with free martinis and chips. He was so suave and handsome, and… I _may_ have let it slip that I was a bounty hunter who was friends with Jillian Arainai," she said cringing, anticipating the backlash.

"Faye!" Spike scolded her, his voice loud and deep.

"I didn't know!" she gave as her excuse.

"This is why it's critical you attend _AND_ pay attention in all team briefings!" Jet said, pulling rank. "You tipped him off and both of them were able to get out before we got there. We have _**no**_ idea now where they could be headed!"

"It's okay, Jet," Jill added softly in Faye's defense, "It's not her fault." Everyone looked at her, confused and surprised at what they were hearing. "And honestly, it doesn't really matter that much anymore." Jet wondered how she could so easily let go of all the anger and insecurity that comes with trauma from situations like hers. He watched her rest her head against Spike's shoulder with a faint smile, and immediately understood.

Getting up from his chair, he chuckled once, shaking his head. "Why can't we ever stumble across a girlfriend for ol' Jet, hm? Is that really too much to ask?" he grumbled half-heartedly.

THE END.


End file.
